


Afternoon in Black and White

by paraboobizarre



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraboobizarre/pseuds/paraboobizarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill comes over to visit Tom...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afternoon in Black and White

There's a big French window. From up above, he can see a long, painfully straight boulevard stretch far into the distance until all those massive buildings lining the street are swallowed whole by the fog that squats so low over the city, Tom could actually feel the moisture grazing his skin as he walked the short distance from the car to the entrance of the hotel.

  


Tom wanders aimlessly through the room. He's not even too sure where they are right now. Somewhere east. Not the Russia kind of east. No posters or street signs in Cyrillic, so not _that_ far east. But people around him speak in a strange language that makes him wonder where all the vowels went to. 

  


It's that strange kind of early winter afternoon, where it's neither light nor dark. Everything has that smothered silvery glow to it. 

Days like this one, is when Tom misses home most. It's always so eerily quiet in these hotels; the way those lush carpets suck up all the noises of people walking, the thick walls so he cannot hear what goes on in the other rooms, the super insulated windows, that shield him from virtually every noise from the outside world. It gets so quiet these times, Tom can hear himself think and that's not something he is particularly fond of. 

  


Tom turns on the TV to one of those typical German channels they always have in hotels, no matter where. It's early afternoon, American television series everywhere. 

The pre-recorded audio tracks of people laughing. 

The acoustic warning sign held up.

_This is a joke._

_This is funny._

_Laugh now._

  


Like those people they have at the recording for TV shows. The one's that always stand on the sidelines, clapping enthusiastically to prompt the audience to do the same. Both are annoying, in the way they seem to want to police one's reactions, mould it into something more standardized and predictable. 

_Laugh now._

_Clap now._

_Stop now._

  


Tom flops down on the bed, fully clothed, and rolls onto his side. Staring ahead he can see the grey in grey city outside his window, muted into one huge diorama. 

The TV whispers away in the background, the canned laughter breaking the droopy mumbling of people talking and Tom suddenly remembers the story Gustav once told him. 

Those audio tracks of people laughing and how most of them were recorded sometime in the early 20s*. He cannot help but smile a little to himself, thinking he is probably listening to the laughter and chuckles of dead people. 

_Laugh now._

_Dead. Now._

  


Tom bites down a yawn, the dead people, forever trapped in the television, roar about some joke again and he doesn't hear the soft clicking noise as the connecting door to his room slips into its lock again. 

The carpet swallows the approaching footsteps and Tom only realizes he's not alone any more when the shadow of Bill walks past him, coming to stand in front of the window. 

The way Bill's so pale in the awkward afternoon light, he seems almost black and white, like some strange, lanky figure straight out of an early sci-fi movie. 

  


His Pleasantville twin who found a magical remote control and came here to visit him. Tom cannot help but chuckle at the notion and it earns a mildly confused look from Bill in response.

Bill takes a few steps forwards and Tom rolls onto his back again, looking up at Bill looking down on him, a curious expression on his face. 

“What are you laughing about?” Bill asks, tugging some hair behind his ear. 

  


“Nothing really.” Bill swings one leg over Tom's hips, straddling him moments later, palms flat on his belly, fingers fanned out and he's still looking at him, demanding a better answer.

  


“Dead people laughing and magical remote controls, that's what I was thinking of,” Tom replies, dragging a palm up the side of Bill's hip, slipping fingers just under the hem of his brother's tee-shirt. When he grazes his fingertips over the soft skin on his twin's waist, Bill twitches, makes a surprised cooing noise and he folds slightly sidewards, trapping Tom's fingers there. 

  


Bill's eyes narrow just a little and he's staring down at Tom, not quite sure if the previous answer is meant to make fun of him or not. Tom smiles. It's not like he can bear to keep his brother wondering for too long. It irritates Bill and upsets him, in that childish way he always thinks Tom is trying to exclude him from something very important or terribly cool. In a way, sometimes, they're still six years old and Bill is eternally competing for his place in the sun next to Tom, trying to be as cool as he perceives Tom to be. Truth is Bill is his own sun by now and he has a million tiny planets circling around him; it's a kind of gravitation that pulls everyone in, even Tom.

  


“Your mind's a strange place,” Bill finally concludes, drumming his fingers impatiently against Tom's stomach, before he shoves them underneath the hem of Tom's shirt. He can feel the fingers crawling upwards, the way they undulate over his skin in one continuous movement, it's making him shiver just lightly. 

  


“Came here with ulterior motives, huh?” He asks quietly, so he can still hear the way his shirts drag against each other with a whispering noise as Bill bunches them up on his way. The hands slip down at his sides, palms pressing into the mattress as Bill looms over him, all that hair creating a fuzzy black curtain shielding him from the silver smog outside.

  


“I always have ulterior motives,” Bill replies, brushing his open mouth against Tom's lips in an almost kiss before he pulls away again, snickering. “I'm just sneaky like that...”

  


The following kiss is a real one; the kind of hesitant probing, a soft and short kiss before Bill pulls away again, brushing their lips together, moving away just a little whenever Tom opens his mouth to invite Bill in for a more lingering kiss. 

  


Bill kisses the corner of his mouth, moving down to his jaw, the side of his neck, brushing his lips against his collarbone, before he tugs Tom's shirt off, tossing his own right after it; they land in a heap together on the floor next to the bed and Bill sets down to work, kissing and nibbling his way down Tom's chest to his belly. 

Tom's pants and boxers join their crumpled shirts on the floor, Bill's fingers fanning out over the insides of his thighs, pushing his legs apart. 

  


Tom looks down the line of his own body, wondering for a moment if the world has really turned all that monochrome. Bill's fingernails are black and white, his skin just as pale as Tom's as he rests his hand on his hip; Bill's hair is that mop of black and white too, so frizzy the outlines seem to blur whenever he moves. Just when Tom's ready to really worry about the lack of colour, Bill looks up at him, his arm propped up on Tom's hipbone. 

  


Bill's eyes are still brown. Those big eyes, like someone decided to turn Bambi into a real human being. Tom smiles, more to himself than to Bill really, glad that the eerie afternoon light hasn't yet drained the world of colour completely.

  


Bambi eyes vanish again, right between the upturned V of his spread legs, Bill's warm breath ghosting over the soft skin right on the insides of his thighs, his fingernails scratching just lightly along the insides, before he starts to tease Tom just about everywhere except where it'd be most interesting.

  


“What's that...”

Kiss. 

“Magical...”

Sucking and licking.

“Remote about...”

Bill's kissing his way up to Tom's cock, his fingers 'accidently' brushing over the shaft.

“...Anyways?”

  


“Huh?” 

Tom's blinking up at the ceiling, his thought processes forking off in two different directions. Part of him would really like to answer Bill's question, the other part clouds over when Bill's mouth opens around his erection and he gets enveloped in the warm wetness as it sucks him down.

Forget answering the question. Judging by the absorbed look on Bambi's face, it isn't all that important either... 

  


Bill's being a tease and drags the ball of his piercing against the underside of the head over and over again, just over that really sweet spot. It's so good it's almost painful in its intensity, heat bubbling in the pit of his belly. 

Slicked up fingers brush over his entrance, softly at first, drawing lazy circles around the ring of muscle and then the probing gets more insistent till Bill slips his first finger inside. 

  


Tom draws his leg up, dragging his foot against Bill's side, letting the sole of his foot rub against the curve of his brother's back as he lies between his spread legs. Bill's eyes are closed but he opens them to look up at Tom, as he feels toes wriggling under the waistband of his boxers, snapping the elastic back and sliding the pad of the foot over the swell of his buttocks. A second finger slips in, moving in and out slowly, scissoring, wriggling in deeper and brushing against that spot that sends all of Tom's synapses into little spasms of delight.

  


Bill smiles at him, his lips a little puffy and shining with spit, while he leisurely drags his flat palm against the stiff flesh. It's a smile not many people get to see. That look of calm confidence, laced with just that hint of flirtatious mischief at the edges, that still sends Tom's stomach somersaulting every time.

  


Bill sucks him all the way down again, Tom's stomach flip flopping even harder when Bill's lips close around the base and he feels the back of his brother's throat contracting just lightly around him, that hardly there touch. Bill draws back again, his tongue snaking along the underside and back down again. 

  


It feels as if someone has lit a fire in the pit of his belly, a heat that's spreading rapidly, like a big blue flame licking up the back of his spine. Bill pulls back again, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh just lightly; whether it was by accident or not is really not all that important because it works its magic. Every cell in Tom's body is shocked awake, his thighs clamping around Bill's head as he rolls to his side and keens, trapping his brother between his legs.

  


Bill just giggles around his mouthful, he's patting Tom's bottom as he frees himself, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Tom still feels short of breath and somewhere, it could just as well come from another solar system, he hears Bill say something about him being too easy but the words don't really make it to his brain; it's still too occupied with processing that sensory overload from before.

  


When the world clears again, Bill sits in the middle of the bed, his legs crossed Indian style, crooking a finger and beckoning Tom closer. Tom's mentally a little stuck on the way his brother's erection juts out, curves against his stomach and he has to force himself not to stare as he crawls over to Bill. 

It's part morbid fascination, seeing Bill naked like that, the other part is a sense of shame he's surprised he still has. That little voice that says that this is wrong but it's hardly ever audible over the crazy thumping of his own heart and Bill's low throaty moans. 

  


“Get up here?” Bill asks, his voice soft and a bit raspy, ducking his head and pulling Tom the rest of the way up to him by a strand of his dreads. There's always that light teasing to everything they do, flirtation, as if they still needed to win one another over. 

Tom crawls into Bill's lap, feeling his brother's arms cross behind his lower back, pulling him even closer. The insides of Bill's palms feel so warm and when Bill ghosts his fingertips over the ticklish patch of skin right over his bottom Tom cannot help but shiver. 

  


Tom rises to his knees, Bill's hand vanishing under his body at the same time. It's so practised by now, the machinations of intimacy, there's no need to speak. He feels Bill sliding in and it's the same feeling as usual. A little pain, but mostly it's just really good in that exciting way that makes his heart hammer against his ribcage and makes it hard to breathe those long moments it takes till he's fully seated in Bill's lap, his legs on either side of his hip. Tom bites his lip, shifting lightly in his brother's lap, wincing at the incredibly full feeling, the way it still stings. 

  


Bill grabs his hips, stilling his movements, groaning softly, hips stuttering up when Tom clenches around him.

“Shit, you're...” Tom moves up a little, settling down a more comfortably, closer to his brother and Bill loses track of his sentence, wheezes only a little in response. Tom leans forward little, his hands cupping Bill's face, kissing him the way he knows Bill loves it. It's less a real kiss than it is tasting Bill's lips, the soft fleshy part just of the insides of them.

  


It's kisses like the tinkling of little silver bells and the taste cold water, slow and soothing and he can feel Bill melt under him, the way his head gets heavier in Tom's hands. 

Bill exhales long and low, a soft sigh breathed into Tom's mouth, his arms crossing behind his back, pulling Tom closer, trapping his erection between their bodies. Tom starts rocking back and forth slowly, the moist tip brushing against Bill's stomach when he moves and Bill wedges a hand between their bodies, palming the wet tip and Tom hisses out a short breath.

It's a more like see-sawing than anything else, and Tom has the fleeting thoughtthat if anybody were to see them right now, they probably wouldn't think this looked very elegant or dignified. Bill wraps dreads around both of his hands and pulls him forward into another kiss. If people were to see them now, elegance is really the last thing they need to worry about. 

  


He's just chasing his own pleasure, the way he can make Bill drag back and forth in him, rub against the good spot inside of him. Bill is stretched back, his palms pressed into the mattress, bunching up the sheets in his fists. The muscles in his arms are so tense, Tom can see them twitching and Bill's watching him through hooded eyes. 

  


It's that unsettling habit his brother has of watching him so intently, fixing him with that sultry gaze of his. Just like now, the way Bill is just sitting there, stretched back and watching him; it makes it feel less like sex but more like Tom's masturbating and Bill's just here to enjoy the show. Only Bill's slightly laboured breathing, how the air rasps out of him in little wheezes and hiccups, sometimes one step behind, it's the only indication Bill's very much a part of this. 

  


Everything starts to feel so very heavy, as if Tom's entire body weight has plummeted right between his thighs and settled there. He rises up on his knees and sinks back down, his brother hisses out a breath and Tom can feel Bill jerking inside him. 

He's not quite there yet but Bill's getting close too. Every breath tips into a strained little moan, a sound that's half desperation, half deep arousal. Tom's so close by now, he's teetering on the edge of a really good orgasm and all it takes is one little push in the right direction.

Bill's still watching him, his irises just two shadows moving under those thick lashes and Tom watches the path they take, from his face, down his chest, down to where they're connected as he sits in Bill's lap and up to his face again. 

  


Tom attempts a smile, which is hard considering it feels like all the air is being forced out of his system every time he moves in his twin's lap and his entire lower body is tightening, heating up. 

  


Bill chuckles softly. It's a breathless sound that hides a soft moan as Bill struggles out of his current position, wrapping one long arm around Tom's waist to pull himself straight up again. When Tom let's his chin drop to his chest, his forehead is resting against Bill's and they're so close they share breaths. Every breath Tom takes is scorching hot and tastes, smells of Bill. 

  


Having Bill this close, is like being enveloped in a cloud of all those little things about his brother that _always_ make Tom shiver in delight, makes his mind go off on a tangent at any the time. It's Bill's smell, that special scent, sweet and musky at the same time, his hair sticking to the side of his face and the back of his neck, how his skin feels so damp it seems to mould itself to Tom's hands, the way his lips are always slightly parted, tiny beads of sweat dotting his upper lip. It's knowing that the kiss will be slightly breathless as he leans forward, his lips closing over his twin's upper lip, tasting the salt there and the way Bill starts to choke on his own moans, his lashes fluttering and that pretty flush high on his cheeks. 

  


It's that almost scary intensity, the way Tom can lose himself in what's happening and all that matters is Bill and how he tastes, smells, the prickling warmth of it all. They become so mixed up it's hard to tell where one body ends and the other one begins, when it feels like Bill is a part of him again. 

  


It's not the same with girls. The best sex Tom has had with girls, it was just hydraulics and sound effects compared to what he has with Bill. It's comparing apples and oranges or that cheesy notion of sex without love not feeling as good as having sex with someone you _do_ love. The terminology makes Tom wince inwardly and he knows he would never say it out loud but this is really more 'making love' than it is anything else.

  


Bill's tongue flicks against his lips, before he crushes their mouths together, delving his tongue in with an urgency that almost borders on desperation. The kisses are electric by now. Tom imagines little sparks of electricity zapping between their tongues as they move. Bill sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it quite hard, before he groans, a rattling sound drumming through his entire chest. Tom watches his twin's eyes roll up into his head, Bill's nails digging into his hips and holding him in place. 

  


Next thing he feels is a wet warmth between his legs, a delicious whirling deep in his guts. Bill grips him tightly, pumps him hard a couple of times and forces Tom's orgasm out of him, wailing softly when Tom clenches around him. Tom shivers violently, his toes curling so hard he thinks he can hear them crack. Bill mutters quiet curses, his forehead resting heavily against Tom's shoulder and he's sliding a shaky hand down his cock one last time, his palm slick with Tom's release. He can feel his come cooling on his skin already as wet breath washes down Tom's chest and suddenly it's all too intense, choking him up and Tom has to get away for a bit.

  


Bill flops back on the bed, his whole body shuddering, fighting to catch his breath. Bill squirming around in ecstasy, watching him unravel is the biggest turn on, but seeing him afterwards, that's the _truly_ devastating thing.

Bill's lying splayed out on the bed, his chest heaving under flat, harsh breaths, his whole body radiating heat; Tom lets his gaze travel up his brother's torso, little droplets of sweat glittering on the flat plain of his stomach, gathering in the nook of his neck. Lashes fluttering, his eyes closed almost all the way, Bill lies still for the few moments it takes him, to gather his wits again, goose bumps racing up his arms, vanishing again. Eventually his head lolls to the side, lazily blinking up at Tom with glassy eyes, a tired smile creeping over his face. 

Bill is always so completely useless afterwards, limping around like a rag doll; he doesn't ever fall asleep after, luckily he is not big on the cuddles either.

  


Slick fingers thread around the nape of his neck, pulling Tom in for a final languid kiss. It's the caramel, butterscotch kind, that rich and luscious taste, Bill's tongue warm and heavy in his mouth, rubbing against his own thoroughly, before he pulls back. With a low sigh Bill melts into the heap of cushions, blindly groping for Tom's carton of cigarettes on the bedside table. 

  


The sky outside is such a deep chrome colour it turns the light in the room metallic. Bill's that slicked, shining black and white body on his bed and Tom furtively hides the remote control under his pillow. He wants Bill to stay a little longer. No need to go back to Pleasantville just yet...

  


_*Gustav got his timeline mixed up when he told Tom that little story. The first time canned laughter was used was in the early 1950s._

_Just a little artistic licence..._

__  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [ParabooBizarre @ Livejournal.com](http://paraboobizarre.livejournal.com/)


End file.
